


On the Hydrodynamic Interaction of Shock Waves with Interstellar Clouds

by AnonymousHeavyIndustries



Series: Casual Analysis [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Never Met, Background Relationships, Dialogue Heavy, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Haru being Haru, Idiots in Love, M/M, Oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 10:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18409205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousHeavyIndustries/pseuds/AnonymousHeavyIndustries
Summary: Kisumi wants to be happy for Sousuke. He does. But it's hard to not be a little jealous when someone has the kind of relationship you've always dreamed of.Haru would prefer he focused on what he had in front of him.[Reading the previous work is not necessary.]





	On the Hydrodynamic Interaction of Shock Waves with Interstellar Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> I have not edited this story in any way from its original post date, I have not even reread it, but here it is anyway, take it as you will.

There were couples that needed to crash and burn. You wanted them to fail, not because they were dysfunctional to the point where it'd save a lot of time, money, and visits to shrinks for them and their immediate social circle, but because they worked so well that it made you want to puke. Doting, not-yet-left-the-honeymoon-phase boyfriends, wearing matching colour-coordinated outfits, laughing at each other's terrible jokes, having their heads jammed so far up each other's asses that they had transcended into their own dual-anal dimension. Stealing kisses that were never as covert as they thought they were, prolonged footsie battles during movie night, lapsitting, handholding, diabetic nose-nuzzling and the kind of grotesque sweet talk that made you suspect an aneurysm. Arguing sometimes, but figuring a way to make it up to each other and seeing that yeah, maybe I blew things out of proportion, no it was me projecting my insecurities, I love you, I love you, hug; end scene.

Call it vindictive. Petty, even. Kisumi was past caring at this point. The past five months had been tooth-rotting torture of a profound and cruel degree, supervising his idiot best friend and aforementioned best friend's new boyfriend stumbling into an approximation of a perfect relationship. Sousuke acted more like a real human every day, as if Rin's nethers magically bestowed self-awareness, sociability, and other unSousukelike characteristics a decade of his friendship hadn't pummelled into him. They had pain points and spats, sure, but with no attempted murders, no police involvement, and only one hospital trip, it was far and away the stablest relationship Sousuke had ever been in. They were well on their way to maintaining a tidy monogamous bicycle while Kisumi sat in back, pedalling at nothing.

He gouged a hole into the waterlogged lemon circling the bottom of his glass. He might not be so bitter if Sousuke had bothered to call and let him know what was up instead of bailing on their plans without so much as a peep. He had a good feeling the source of his absence started with an R and ended with an N.

The waitress informed him that either he had to order something or leave, so he gave up and ordered a coconut-coffee agar. He leaned back and counted the brown spots on the ceiling, wishing he had someone to bitch at. On reflex, he opened up twitter and started typing, then wiped the whole thing out. He supposed he could call someone and see if they wanted to hang out, but Sousuke was his dedicated bitching partner and he was at the age where you couldn't have an off the cuff afternoon with the boys anymore. They had things like _families_ and _work._ He stabbed another hole into his lemon.

The café was near empty. The waitress was having a chat about tennis with the sweaty, thicknecked chef and had forgotten that he existed. At a table adjacent to him was a dark-haired man who'd been chipping away at some biscotti and a book for the better part of an hour. He was the dreamy, clean-cut type who only opened his mouth when he meant it; casually stylish modern-dresser, but a traditionalist at heart. The kind of face you'd describe as sensitive. White cat hair painted an affectionate arch on his pantsleg. Weird ugly bird keychain hanging from his bag, perhaps as some ironic postmodernist statement about mascot culture. Probably whiled away hours staring at the sea and writing poetry about the transience of human existence and the unbearable lightness of being and other big brain philosophy topics he didn't have the patience to humour anymore, no matter how attractive the guy was.

The biscotti bibliophile took a sip of coffee, flipped his book over, and started reading it upside down. Scratch that; he could stomach some Heidegger if it meant getting to the bottom of this literary inversion.

"Hey, would you mind if I joined you?" Kisumi asked.

"Yes."

"Yes you're fine with it or yes you'd mind?"

"Yes."

Kisumi seated himself opposite the man just in time for the waitress to return with his agar and a refill. "So do you normally read books that way? Is there like, secret text?"

"No. This is how you're supposed to read it."

The man broke the edge off his biscotti and put it into his mouth. Now that he was getting a better look, this guy was a real stunner, we're talking incense smoke apparition, subtly striking as the touch of an inky brush on unblemished paper. Intense, shiver-inducing blue eyes. Long, narrow fingers. Pianist fingers, he thought they were called. Slices of gray paint ringed the underside of his nails, but they were otherwise well kept.

Kisumi sliced into his agar, coyly twining his spoon around it. "Do you come here often?"

"Sometimes."

"I've only been once before. I was supposed to meet with my friend but he ditched me to hang out with his boyfriend."

"That so." Flat like that, no question in it.

"Yeah. Can you believe it? It wasn't like we scheduled it on short notice, he had a full week to change his mind. It's rude as fuck. I never welched on our meetups when I was dating. I mean, I've even cut dates short when he called me all mopey about something or other and you know how that makes me look to my dates? Well, I don't have a boyfriend right now for a reason. He's got no respect for our friendship. Call me chopped liver, it'd be a step up from how he's been treating me lately."

Another crumb, another toneless hum.

How did one pivot a conversation away from _hello stranger, let me tell you about my gay problems_? Politics? No, that'd make things worse and he barely followed anything beyond the latest major fuckup anyway. Art? Art. Once you got these types started, they'd keep going until their jaws fell off.

"The person I was supposed to meet isn't coming either. His girlfriend wanted him for something." The guy snapped his biscotti in half, grinding the crumbs beneath his fingertip. "I haven't seen him in months."

"That's _awful_ ," Kisumi said, suppressing his excitement. Mutual grievances were the glue of human interaction.

"I know she comes first, but," the man cut himself off.

"It's been so long. I get it. It's bogus." Kisumi tilted his head to read the spine of the book. _Only Revolutions_. "Is that good?"

"It's interesting."

"I don't even remember what the last book I was." He hurriedly adjusted, "The last book I read was."

For a split second, the man's mouth quirked up and then it was gone, just like everything else he'd ever loved.

"I'm Kisumi, by the way."

"Haru."

"I'll buy you another coffee if you let me complain at you more."

Haru looked into his mug, noted the thin black sliver swirling the bottom, and beckoned the waitress over.

—

Before he could so much as get out a hello, Rin foisted a swirling, multi-textured pot into his arms. "Hey, I noticed you like plants, so I got this for you. It's an amaryllis. I know it doesn't look like much, but I swear it's in there."

Indeed, there was a sprig of green breaking through the soil. Kisumi checked the bottom of the pot. "There's no drainage holes. The bulb will rot. But thanks."

"Oh. Well. I just thought it looked cool. You can repot it if you want." Rin shrugged and pulled off his shoes. "Sousuke's not here yet?"

"Nah. Make yourself at home." Kisumi shuffled into the kitchen and left the amaryllis on the counter next to the garbage.

"Place looks great, as always."

"I was cursed to be domestic. I need my nest to be in order for me to feel alright."

"Yeah, I get that. You ever think about jumping into interior design?"

"Sometimes. I'd rather be a house husband."

Rin looked at him as if he'd said he loved to take long swims through the canals of Mars, same as everyone else. "That's cool, I guess. You could do a lot of good for people if you did it professionally."

"Maybe as a side gig, but like I said, I'd rather stay at home."

"Never hurts to explore your potential."

Exploring how far he could shove his fist down Rin's throat wouldn't hurt either. He ducked his head inside the fridge, pulling faux-motivational faces at leftover spaghetti before Rin could ask how the job hunt was going. "How about a drink?"

Rin held up a water bottle full of what looked like a bunch of dead bugs floating in jelly."I brought my own."

He wanted him to ask what it was so bad. He could see that manic health freak quivering inside him, desperate to inform him about the latest dietary fad, if only he would just ask. He cracked out his trusty wine jug—only two litres left, but it would do—stuck a straw into it, and took a long suck, waiting for a more hospitable feeling to set in.

"Wine's great for you."

"I know. You told me."

Rin's smile froze stiff. He dug his phone out of his pocket, muttering something about seeing how long it would take Sousuke to get here.

They occupied opposite ends of the couch with a vast plain of cushion between them so Sousuke could have his insisted absolute domain over the snacks. Kisumi provided the usual array of chips and crisps; Sousuke would inevitably bring a hastily wrapped bundle of yakitori from the stall down the street; Rin relinquished a platter of of blue cheese-stuffed figs wrapped in bacon and glazed with bourbon so they might improve their plebeian palates. Pregame commentary rattled on as they studied their feeds, trying to avoid anything interesting enough to merit sharing.

Against his pettier judgment, Kisumi tried a fig. Pungent nip from the cheese, the fig's simple sweetness made more nuanced by the bourbon, savoury smokiness from the bacon, that perfect sprinkling of salt to top it off... It was abominable how good it was. He had to at least acknowledge Rin's presence for a couple minutes.

"I met a weird guy the other day. Between him and Sousuke I think I'm a magnet for them."

"Sousuke's not weird."

"Sousuke told me he wanted to drink paint because it looks like it'd taste good."

Rin shrugged. "Latex paint kinda looks like a milkshake when you pour it."

Love truly was the greatest delusion.

—

"I can't deal with this anymore. I can't."

"How did you get this number?" Haru didn't sound as annoyed as he'd expected. Already a point in his favour.

"You gave it to me."

"Did I?"

Actually, he'd copied it off his phone when he'd gone to the bathroom. "Yeah, don't you remember?"

There was a long silence. "Is this about the boyfriend again?"

"Yes."

"If he's a bad person, then tell your friend to stop dating him."

"That's the problem! He's not a bad guy! He's this nauseatingly Type-A meathead full of optimism and everything with him is always goals and objectives and pushing yourself to the limit and he's way too good for Sousuke and of course Sousuke knows that so here he comes drunk on my doorstep at two AM crying about 'what if he doesn't actually love me' and somehow Rin found out—drunktexting I guess—and rode his bike across town and showed up at my doorstep going 'no baby I love you I love you so much why would you ever think I didn't' and then he starts crying too—I kinda think maybe they were both drunk—and they're just hugging and crying on the floor and telling each other how much they mean to each other and it was the gayest shit I've ever seen in my life. I hate it."

"Sounds like a rough night."

"Rin tracked mud in my kitchen with his stupid bike _and_ they ate all my cereal before they left this morning. It's bullshit. Fuck me for figuring they shouldn't be running around town plastered at the asscrack of dawn."

"You could stop being friends with him if it bothers you that much."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"You know how there are people out there that are so dumb that you feel like you have to protect them? That's Sousuke."

The line went quiet again. "Are you busy?"

Marathoning animal rescue shows didn't count as 'busy' last he checked. "No."

"Let's get a drink. You pick the bar, I'll buy the first round."

The urge to cry welled in his chest. He was so used to cleaning up the emotional vomit of others that he forgot what it was like to have someone take care of him for once. "Let me get changed, I'll send you the address."

They rendez-voused at a place he'd been dying to visit since it opened, but could never coax Sousuke along. Haru, glorious booze-bearing angel of mercy he was, had saved him a seat at the bar. He collapsed mightily onto the stool and dropped his head onto Haru's shoulder with a pitiful whine. Human contact! It'd been too long since he'd had the doses needed to keep him in kilter. (Drunk wrangling didn't count.) He smushed his nose against Haru's hideous mustard yellow tee and inhaled the scent of sun-dried laundry imbued with a vague, but not unpleasant fishiness. Haru tolerated it long enough to get their orders squared away then shrugged him off.

Throwing out all pretenses of decorum, Kisumi downed his Tequila Sunrise in one and slumped against the bar. "You're the only sane guy I know."

"Do you ever think about how you don't have a head?" Haru asked, outlining a rough shape in black on his napkin.

"What? Of course I do."

"Where?"

"Right here. You can see it." Kisumi gestured at his face.

"But can you?"

"Of course." He picked up his phone and held it parallel to his eyeline. "See?"

"That's a head, yes. But is it yours? Where is it when you're not using something else to look at it?"

"Right here," Kisumi protested, pressing a hand to his cheek. "I can feel it, I know it's there."

"But you can't see it."

"Don't try and start this stuff with me. Everybody has a head. You'd be dead if you didn't."

"I don't."

"Then what's this?" Kisumi squeezed Haru's crown.

"The core of my consciousness." He resumed sketching on his napkin. "It probably doesn't look like anything, but I like imagining it's an amalgamation of water and light that the world passes through."

"That's weird. You're weird."

Haru smirked, as if to say, _You like it._ And yeah, he did.

—

"Haru, you're not going to _believe_ what this idiot said to me."

"I need you to come pick vegetables."

"So I was—What? What?"

"I need you to pick vegetables. Wear something you can get dirty in. I'll be there shortly."

He made a few garbled noises, trying to process the conversation's abrupt twist. "Okay. Yeah, that's fine."

His phone buzzed. Sousuke again. _Movie?_

_**Can't. Veggies.** _

_???_

Phone off, fashionista on. Cute, but utilitarian. Functional, but not a garbage bag. He held shirts out over his chest, posed at the mirrror, flung them over his shoulder when they didn't fit the bill. Variations on a button-down, embarrassing fishnet top he bought when he first entered the scene, autumn/winter clothes he hadn't bothered to put in storage, stripey vest, wifebeaters, screenprinted tees faded to perfection, skinny jeans, courduroys, a dozen pairs of basketball shorts.

Gardening wasn't a date. Was it? Was them getting drinks a date? It couldn't have been. There was no way Haru was into him like that. For that matter, he wasn't sure if he was into Haru like that. He wasn't opposed to the idea of being with Haru, but treating every guy he met as potential boyfriend material got exhausting. Once your sights were set, you had to sprint headlong into the smooching and handholding before you got locked in the friend zone for eternity.

He shuttled empty hangers back and forth, trying to not think of how Sousuke would laugh if he could see him now. He always looked so smug when he thought he was getting back at someone, like he'd pissed in your coffee when you weren't looking and was waiting for you to drink it.

_And you said I was overthinking things with Rin._

Who cared if he was having a minor meltdown over an outfit? He'd been right and that was what mattered. Plus he could talk to Haru without giving himself a concussion. Instant high ground. He scooped up an old charity t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts that didn't make him want to neck himself and settled. They were friends gardening in a friendly way. Simple as that. If something happened, he'd let it happen; if not, no big deal.

Haru arrived in a pickup with two hefty rolls of canvas buddied up to lengths of pine in the back. Gardening gloves bulged in the chest pocket of his overalls and an oversized straw hat hung off the back of his headrest. Endearing, in a goofy, rustic way. Reminded him of when Grandpa took him out to do yard work til he was crying from sunburn and was finally allowed to go inside and watch stories with Grandma. Even now he could smell the aloe rubbed on his back, taste the cold rush of barley tea down his throat as impossibly attractive people flung themselves into social webs full of backstabbing, betrayal, and heartbreak. He piled into the car with a couple million questions bristling on his lips, but Haru dropped a bento into his lap and hunger won out.

 

The engine's rumble lowered to a purr as the house loomed into view. Kisumi gaped. He didn't know what he expected. A small studio apartment with a balcony loaded with tomatoes, perhaps, or one of those tiny homes that was so popular nowadays. Not this.

A stone wall dripping with ivy surrounded the property. Two steps up and they were at the gate. Haru leaned over to a mailbox handpainted with luxurious sprays of iris, hydrangea, and morning glory and fetched a handful of postcards and official-looking letters, then opened the gate. The front face of the house had dark steel board-and-batten siding that contrasted cleanly with the wide horizontal panels cladding the other sides. Already he could hear a shishi-odoshi thunking away in the garden. Haru turned a hard right through the grass and Kisumi drifted after in a stupor.

The garden was unreal. Bok choy, perilla, mugwort, and other traditional herbs and vegetables grew alongside purple carrots, tomatoes with pink and green zebra stripes, cucumbers the size of his arm, a Cinderella pumpkin the size of a toddler. Under the shade of a young maple laid a small pond buzzing over with dragonflies. In the corner of the yard was a compact greenhouse dedicated to hydroponics; nearby, a penned in area with a coop and a handful of fat chickens waddling around, chortling and scratching the ground. Kisumi stuck his fingers through the mesh and waggled them at the birds.

"There's Chick, Check, Chuck, and Peepo," Haru said, pointing them out in turn. "I like the eggs but they're kind of annoying because sometimes they try to eat each other." He glanced at Kisumi, adding, "Chickens are stupid."

Kisumi retracted his hand before one of them could decide his fingers looked tasty. "What do you even do?"

"Industrial design. I do traditional art on the side."

No wonder he could afford a place like this. "You're pretty smart then."

Haru shrugged and lobbed a pair of gardening gloves at him. They worked elbow to elbow, Haru guiding him through the nuances of ripeness for each plant, slowly filling a basket with show-worthy produce. It took almost an hour for him to remember why he'd been angry before. Fucking Sousuke, thinking he could try that on _him_ of all people—he cocked his tongue for a first-rate bitching and Haru promptly pulled a tiny orange tomato out of the basket and shoved it into his mouth. Tangy sweet juices flooded his tongue, washing out the venom.

"That's good," he said, shocked.

"I have a lot of different tomatoes, if you want to take some home." Haru ducked his head to the side, picking up a slug advancing towards a head of bok choy. He lobbed it into the chicken pen. "You said you liked them."

"I did?" He supposed it might've come up at some point.

Haru dug a knife out of his pocket and cut him a fat, juicy slice of a zebra tomato; then offered a pear-shaped tomato, sugar snow peas, picnic peppers. They carried on, harvesting and sampling and sweating as the sun crawled past high.

  
Grime spiralled down the sink. Kisumi stared at the scrubbed pinkness of his forearms, working at dirt that had been gone for minutes now. This was a problem. The house was gorgeous. Airy, two storeys, hardwood floors throughout, massive bathtub, spacious kitchen with a real oven... The bullet points read like porn. But that he could handle. What had his heart throbbing like some cartoonishly inflated thumb post-hammer strike were the details. Wood and metal finishes were cohesive through the house. Somebody had swept and mopped within the past century. The towels matched.

Guys who looked like incarnations of divine powers threw wet towels on the floor until mold colonized. Instagram hotties he thought he could spend his life with commanded dustbunny empires so vast they could conquer the whole of Japan within a week. Earlier, he saw Haru overfill a glass of lemonade and actually clean it up. That was when he knew he was in deep. You got attractive or tidy, not both.

Haru rapped on the door, informing him the food was ready.

Attractive _and_ tidy _and_ he cooked. He thumped his head against the sink. Already he was fantasizing of breakfast on a cold winter morning, huddled together with steaming mugs of cocoa and eggs en cocotte as the wind roared and blustered and the chickens slept cozy in their coop. He turned off the sink and squashed this weird fledgling affection. The house was nice, yeah, sure. Haru was cute, cool, great. No need to make a fuss about it.

Dinner was replete with the bounties of the garden: okra pickled in rice bran; lotus root, aubergine, sweet potato, and perilla leaf tempura; white miso soup; generous bowls of steamed rice; and fish patties made from a blend of horse mackerel, umeboshi, spring onions, white sesame, mountain yam, and two types of ginger, wrapped in perilla leaves, fried, and served with mustard spinach.

Kisumi shamelessly ogled the spread. Good wine. Spotless stemware. Chopsticks that matched. Crockery that didn't come from the ¥100 store. A tablecloth!! There was a message to be found here, he was sure. A dominance display, perhaps. A statement of intent that the dinner would end with him bent over and domesticated. His chest ached at the thought.

He took out his phone and lined up the perfect shot. This memory must be preserved as all modern memories were: on Instagram.

"No phones at the table."

"C'mon, this is a work of art. Everybody loves seeing this kind of stuff."

"I didn't make it for everybody. I made it for you."

He pocketed his phone and dug in before his ears could get too hot.

The first bite induced a groan of gustatory ecstasy that verged on orgasmic. The first sip of soup warranted a wedding proposal. The side dishes brought visions of entertaining friends around this table, serving exquisite multicourse dinners as Haru forged on in the kitchen. Had he truly eaten before this? Were the thousands of meals he'd consumed in his lifetime mere facsimiles of real cuisine?

"I might have to move in if this is how you eat every day."

"As long as you help keep the house in order."

He'd waited his whole life for a man to say that to him. "Take me, I'm yours."

Tonight was great.

 

Tonight was a mistake. What the hell was he doing, sleeping in the house of a guy he barely knew? Hooking up was one thing. That had the expectation that you vamoosed soon as you got up—preferably before the host, to avoid awkward breakfast offers—which meant you could be comfortable with the knowledge you'd never see him again and didn't have to deal with complaints about you snoring/flailing in your sleep/not being as attractive as he'd thought last night. Clear, concise limits. Here, everything was made up and common sense didn't matter.

He guessed they were kind of friends, so there shouldn't be anything different from spending the night at Sousuke's but Haru kept _doing_ things for him and he couldn't figure out how he was supposed to interpret them. Hospitality for Sousuke started and ended with throwing a blanket on the couch and making nonspecific threats about what he'd do to him if he left a mess. Haru opted for a different route.

When he got out of the shower, a toothbrush, travel-sized deodorant, and lotion waited for him on the sink. His day clothes had been covertly replaced with a pair of comfy pyjamas his exact size. In the loft, there was a futon laid out for him that wasn't musty the way guest linens usually were. On the endtable in the corner was a phone charger, a few magazines for his perusal, two bottled waters, a small bowl of cherries, and a sticky note that informed him that breakfast would be served at seven-thirty.

His immediate instinct was that he should run. No guy was that considerate. Ever. His old boyfriends couldn't even bother to leave him a little coffee in the morning. Plus there was no reason for Haru to have a set of PJs his size. The instant he went to sleep, Haru would haul him off to a secret room and grind his bones for fertilizer. But that thought passed and he decided to take it at face value. There was nothing hotelish about the presentation. It was simply the kind of thing you'd do to make someone feel special. And it was just for him. That got a powerful, obnoxious squiggling going in his stomach, not yet butterflies but metamorphosing their way up, so he tucked in with his phone before Haru could offer a backrub and a blowjob or whatever else he considered part of being a thoughtful host.

_Veggies??_

_kis_

_you haven't posted anything all day. Are you dead?_

_**If you must know, I was having bold and exciting adventures in gardening** _

_So you were at home_

_Rin really wanted you to come see that movie_

_**I've been at Haru's all day** _

_**Still am, as a matter of fact. He's letting me spend the night.** _

_New boyfriend?_

"Are you comfortable?"

Kisumi flipped onto his back, scrambling to shove his phone under the pillow like he was fifteen again. "Don't scare me like that!"

Haru stood over him, barechested and way more toned and tan than he'd thought. His legs parted on reflex. He didn't think Haru noticed. Haru set a spare blanket and his day clothes beside him, then straightened up, looking down at him with an unreadable expression. This was it. If he was getting ravished, now was the time.

"Let me know if you need anything. Goodnight."

"Night," he said, and Haru trekked quietly down the stairs.

_boyfriend?_

_**No** _

_**Maybe?** _

_**I'm confused** _

_Did you kiss him?_

_**No** _

_Not a boyfriend._ _You're welcome._

_**blow me** _

_can't, I'm taken_

_**A N Y W A Y** _

_**He made me dinner and everything.** _

_**It was great.** _

_**I'd send you a pic of the food but he scolded me for using my phone at the table.** _

_Is he 50?_

_**NO** _

_Okay_

_Let me know what 60 year old dick tastes like tomorrow._

Kisumi pelted his phone into the pillow and dragged the covers over his head.

—

"How's that phone?"

"This is a no bully zone." Kisumi refreshed twitter for the fiftieth time in ten seconds. Rin and Sousuke had been livetweeting a trip to Tokyo Disneyland all day.

"Do you want Bordeaux or Pinot Noir?"

Those bastards were going on his favourite: Splash Mountain. "I don't care about the type of wine, they all taste the same."

Haru closed his eyes and exhaled deeply through his nose.

"Does it have to be red? I know you said you wanted red because it'll go with the lamb better, but I like white. Or rosé. It doesn't matter, right?" Refresh, refresh, refresh.

"I'll get some _vin de merde_."

"Sounds great."

The look on Haru's face indicated that was not, in fact, great.

He scanned the labels before him, trying to muster up some hidden degree of culinary sophistication. For him, selecting wine had always been an intersection of what was reasonably priced and what could help him forget the day the fastest. His excursions into the wine aisle never lasted longer than the few seconds it took to grab a random bottle and drop it into his basket.

He narrowed down the options to the shelf directly at his eyelevel, reading nonsensical tasting notes promising tones of cherry, cedar, chocolate, violets, liquorice, gunmetal, saddle leather, tar, and pencil lead. One specimen described itself as "the experience of silk sheets between your thighs while on holiday in Alsace". Another claimed that it would transport the drinker back into a primal womb state. It was amazing how people championing superior taste managed to make everything sound unappetizing.

He noticed a bottle on the bottom shelf featuring an owl logo. "This one's cute, let's get this. Or should we get the kangaroo instead? It says it's won a bunch of awards. They're a lot cheaper than the ones you were looking at."

Another long exhale.

"You know what, you're the food expert, just pick what'll go best with dinner."

Haru reached over him and picked up a Bordeaux and headed for the checkout.

His phone buzzed with a new notification. Another photo of the lovebirds, now outside the park looking giddyhigh as they brandished their sheet of Splash Mountain photos, ignoring the security personnel behind them. Rin, who had lost his shirt sometime during the ride, was devouring Sousuke's face. Sousuke, who had removed his own tee, was waving it over his head, mostly obscuring the horrified faces of the passengers in the back of the log. Both were giving the two-fingered salute.

**got kicked out lol**

He picked up two bottles of the owl wine. Haru could sigh at him all he wanted, he wasn't drinking for taste tonight.

—

Eggshell white walls, no painting or decals allowed. Pictures okay if you didn't mind losing your deposit over pinholes. Lemon cleaner and freshly watered plants scented the air. He'd vacuumed, swept, mopped, sorted the rubbish. He fluffed the throw pillows. Made his bed for once. The counters gleamed like dressing-room mirrors; the grout in the bathroom looked brand new. None of it changed the fact that the apartment was a small, dull, eyesore. Kisumi sprawled on the couch, a little high from the chemicals and bored stupid.

According to the internet, Sousuke and his perfect sunshine boyfriend were spending the afternoon cycling, which meant scenery montages, a video of Sousuke being attacked by a goose and crashing head-over-feet into a ditch while Rin cackled offscreen, and several borderline pinup shots of each other in their skinsuits. The most recent featured Rin draped over his handlebars. There was more ass than face, but what little made it through hit the camera with the kind of sultry, insanely confident bedroom look that screamed, _Yes! Yes! We fuck!! Hard. Often. Don't you wish you did the same?_

He dropped his phone, uncaring if it broke. God, that would be a kindness he didn't deserve. The TV had been droning on so long he couldn't even remember what he'd been watching. He hadn't eaten anything besides a cup ramen. Groaning, he scraped his phone off the floor, disappointed to find it intact. He deleted Sousuke's text from yesterday asking if he wanted to hang out and created a new one addressed to Haru.

_**Entertain me** _

For an hour, he vegetated, waiting for a response.

Sorry. 

Got held up at work. 

_**nvm then** _

I'll pick you up at the train station. 

He hugged Haru the instant he saw him, swinging from side to side. What had only been a few days felt like a lifetime. Haru's fingers discreetly pinched the front of his shirt, giving a fond little tug. Kisumi piled into the truck, glad to find his seat was positioned where he'd last left it.

"We'll have to stop by the store."

"You don't have to cook for me all the time. We can go out and get something to eat."

"Would you prefer that?"

"Well, I mean," Kisumi tried to articulate it properly. "I love your food. But I don't want you to have to go out of the way to do all the cooking and cleaning every time I come over. It seems like a hassle."

"It's not. You help clean anyway."

"Even so, it takes up so much of your free time. Wouldn't you rather do something else?"

"I didn't like it." Haru flicked on his blinker. "Not having someone to cook for. Back home, I could always cook for Makoto or the people in my club. I didn't have anyone like that up here."

"My grandma used to say something about that. Food tastes better when you're with someone." He omitted the 'you love' that went at the end.

Haru smiled to himself. "My grandma said the same."

"How many meals is it going to take to make up for lost time?"

"A lot."

Pedestrians milled across the walkway. Haru broke the quiet with a short laugh. It took several minutes of needling to get him to explain himself.

"Maybe I got so tired of cooking for myself that I'm hallucinating you."

"Rude. If I'm imaginary, then I should be a daydream, not a hallucination. Maybe you're my dream. How about that?"

"What kind of dream would I be?"

"You cook like a pro. You're fit. You have a great job and a gorgeous house and you're easy on the eyes." He lowered his voice, leaned close. "You're my fantasy."

Haru braked hard. For some reason, his mouth was doing a strange quivery thing, like its attempt to stay perfectly still made it all the more jittery. His gaze was fixed directly right and upward, away from Kisumi's half of the cab. The grocery's lights bled through the signage at geometric angles. Haru grabbed his canvas tote and slid out of the truck, cheeks awash in soft white.

—

Haru said nothing about him going home, so he thought nothing of it.

—

Cooking wasn't hard, getting the motivation to do it was. Rin photographing the before and after of a disgustingly beautiful breakfast in bed was sufficient. Kisumi rolled up his sleeves and took stock of their supplies. Plenty of fresh produce, fish, rice, some day-old bread... French toast. French toast was impossible to mess up. But regular French toast was a bit plain, even for his tastes.

He dropped a pot on the stove and wrangled a couple peaches. They were at the peak of ripeness, bleeding sweet, fragrant juices across the cutting board as he slid his knife in and dug out the stone. He resisted the urge to lick his fingers and peeled and diced them into chunks that he scooped into the pot alongside brown sugar, water, cinnamon, a pinch of salt, and a splash of vanilla. He brought the mix to a boil, then reduced the heat to cook as he soaked the bread in egg wash and fried them in butter.

Ingredients began talking to him, urging him onward. He cracked and whisked a few eggs, setting the shells aside for the chickens to eat later, and soft-scrambled them with a little aged cheddar grated in. He ground black pepper over the eggs, spooned peach compote onto the toast, and poured tall glasses of orange juice for the both of them, damn well pleased with himself. You didn't have to be a kitchen wizard to make something decent, just powered by spite and/or love.

He loaded everything onto a tray and walked out onto the porch. Haru was watering the garden. Under the faded straps of his overalls were vast swaths of naked caramel skin, seguing into dunes of compact musculature that looked like they'd melt out of his clothes at any second. The overalls were cut off just above the knee, frayed with age, displaying firm calves and an unfortunate but beloved pair of Crocs.

Haru eased off the trigger and nudged his sun hat upward, exposing a delectable armpit. "You cooked?"

"I did." He raked his eyes over Haru. "No shirt, no service."

Haru pointed the hose at him, finger ready on the trigger.

"Okay, okay, you don't need a shirt!"

—

"I forgot to pay my rent." Kisumi dropped his mahjongg tile. "And my plants—oh my god, my spider plant must be super dead by now."

"We can go pick them up. There's room in the truck."

"Awesome, let's go."

"You should bring some more clothes. And toiletries." Haru thought over it for a moment. "Just bring everything. All your clothes and plants and whatever else."

"Great idea." Kisumi slipped into his sandals. "That's such a great idea."

—

"Moony keeps calling asking if I've talked to you lately. Make him stop."

"Hiyori? Long time no chat." Kisumi wiped his brush on the rim of the paint can and retreated to the porch for some shade and lemonade. "How's California?"

"It'd be better if he'd stop calling me. I swear to god he doesn't know what a time zone is."

"I'll deal with it."

"You two have a fight or did you get tired of Mr Sun being the epitome of human accomplishment?"

"Guess."

"I heard he's writing a book now."

"Of course he is."

Haru ducked his head out onto the porch. "I'm going to Sweden next spring. Do you want to go?"

"That sounds amazing, tell me more about it later," he said, covering the receiver with his hand. Haru nodded and disappeared back inside.

"What about Sweden? Who was that?"

Kisumi gave him an abridged version.

"Impressive how quickly you managed to get whipped. Are you going to keep orbiting his dick and hope he gets the idea or are you going to do something about it?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't mind if he was interested, but I like how things are now. I don't want to mess it up. Let's say I'm playing it by ear."

"You can't write a symphony by ear alone. Gotta start putting the notes to paper eventually." A horn blared, accompanied by a heavily accented barrage of furious English, of which Kisumi only understood _FUCK_. "I still can't believe you. There's not enough money in the world to make me live with a guy I wasn't banging. For real, two days, that's all you get. Any more is gonna end with one of us in a body bag and it's not gonna be me."

"Bet Natsuya would love to hear that."

"That was different. We got there eventually," Hiyori retorted. "So what's the catch?"

"There's no catch. I just help keep the place tidy. He's been letting me decorate too. I found this great desk for him at a recycle shop, so I've been painting that and I got these cute dolphin pulls I was going to replace the old hardware with."

"House bitch."

"If the shoe fits."

"Okay, Cinderella. I better not hear about you getting chained naked to a stove."

"I do like a good pair of handcuffs."

Hiyori hung up in disgust, which was what they aimed for whenever they talked anyway.

—

You'd think that after over half a year, the sap would've been tapped dry, but Rin's veins ran deep. Photo: Sousuke, asleep, surrounded by sheets, head buried in his pillow, the lighting just so. Even to his eyes, he almost looked cute. Text: **Since you entered my life, I've never been the same.** ♥ Way too many likes and shares for their own good.

Haru covered the screen with his palm. "Kisumi."

"What else am I supposed to do?"

Nobody could blame him for being distracted. Farmer's markets weren't his thing. Sure, he agreed to go, but that didn't mean he had to spend every second ogling products. He didn't even know what you were supposed to do with half the stuff they were selling.

Haru pocketed the phone, leaving a rectangular void where it was supposed to be. He filled the space with his hand as the line advanced.

"Who's your friend?"asked the woman manning the booth.

"My future husband," Haru said, without a trace of irony.

Five minor heart attacks later, Kisumi sputtered out, "He's joking!"

"I never joke."

"Take good care of him, he's my best customer."

There was no way out but surrender. "I'll do my best."

They stepped away with a bag of peaches and the eyes of half the market on them.

"You're blushing," Haru observed.

"And you're an asshole. Can I have my phone back?"

"Not until we're done."

Word in a farmer's market apparently travelled at Mach 5, because every seller Haru frequented addressed them as Mr Nanase and The Other Mr Nanase. After the third booth he got over the initial embarrassment of people trying to upsell to Haru with quips of _your husband will love these_ and started thinking it was kinda nice to have people look at them and they were fiancés. Hands interlaced while people around them talked shop about soil conditions and climate and recipes, the promise that their bag of groceries would become something wonderful, fleeting blue glances that told him he was the only important man in the world. One painted moment. An eternal summer day.

He'd been single too long. But dreaming was nice.

"What's next on the agenda? Florist? Cake shop? Since we're engaged and all."

Haru put the truck in reverse and backed out of their parking spot. "I figured you'd want to get your suit fitted first."

"Periwinkle tux for me, navy for you. Or black?"

"Navy. The colour theme will be blue. What type of ring do you want?"

"Silver—no, titanium—gold? I need time to think about it."

They continued sussing out the minutiae while they drove. At stoplights, they debated the number of guests (absolutely no more than 20), the location of their honeymoon (Bora Bora and Venice were tied), whether they should have a photographer (yes). Over lunch, they wondered if they really needed caterers, agreed that it would be easier, then moved on to the cake by the time they got back in the car. They agreed on a two-tiered vanilla cake with buttercream frosting, no fondant allowed, as they arrived at a slick little modern shop in the metro full of marble counters, clean lines, and men's apparel. A middle-aged man in a pinstriped waistcoat introduced himself as Miyamoto and asked Haru what he was in for today.

Haru gestured to Kisumi. "He needs to be measured for a suit. We have a wedding coming up."

Kisumi's head snapped Haru's way so fast it gave him whiplash.

"Certainly, Mr Nanase. What's the time frame on the event?"

"We haven't set a date for the ceremony yet, so just put it on my account and we'll follow up later."

Miyamoto turned to address him. "Is sir looking for a two piece or three piece?"

This didn't look like the kind of guy who'd tolerate having his time wasted with a _haha just kidding actually let's go._ "Two?"

Miyamoto escorted them to the back and brandished his measuring tape. Neck, chest, shoulder slope, sleeve length, waist, thigh... On and on it went, adjusting, shoes coming off and going back on, hands being in places normally reserved for second dates. He'd never considered himself overly conscious of his body but there was a particular brand of insecurity that stemmed from knowing a man who could tell you, to the millimetre, the exact circumference of your ass.

Haru stood back, enjoying his complimentary coffee with a relish that clearly had nothing to do with the quality of the beverage.

"You're getting measured next, right, _honey_?"

"He already has my measurements." The corners of Haru's lips turned up around the flimsy paper rim of his cup.

Miyamoto knelt to measure his inseam. "Does sir dress left or right?"

Splashes of coffee lapped over the edge of the cup, painting long brown stripes down the sides as Haru shook with barely suppressed laughter. Kisumi shot him a searing this-joke-stopped-being-funny-twenty-minutes-ago look.

"Sir?"

"Left."

"Mr Nanase's been a customer of ours for a long time. You must be excited."

"Very excited," Haru affirmed.

Succumbing to the pressure of the room and his unnecessary dedication to the joke, Kisumi agreed and spent the rest of the session imagining his fist plowing into Haru's stupid, kissable face.

—

"He's into you."

"He's not. It was a stupid, overdone joke."

"Yeah, man, sure. I take all my friends to get joke tuxedo fittings. You said he already had the guy order the fabric, right?"

"He probably cancelled it as soon as we got home."

"God, you're as bad as Moony—who, by the way, still keeps calling me. Are you hearing this shit, Nat? Tell him I'm right."

"I mean, I'm not gonna say you can't bum off somebody with no strings attached, but if he's already planning the wedding that kinda sounds serious."

"If he was serious he would've made a move by now!"

Haru came up to the loft, dressed for the aquarium. "Are you ready to go?"

"Cinderella, your prince is calling."

Hiyori won the point that time.

—

"Your life is perfect, we get it, we know!"

"Who's being wrong on the internet today?" Haru asked, scooping great handfuls of skinned tomatoes into mason jars. "Rin again?"

"Everything he posts is just, like, 'Haha I'm so sexy and accomplished, look at me living my best life.'"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't."

Haru stared at him like he was some chocolate-covered child who swore up and down he didn't know where all the Halloween candy went. He resumed poking air bubbles out of the jars with a knife.

"Because," Kisumi started. "I don't know. I always get obsessed with Sousuke's stupid boyfriends. Like, to the point where I know more about them than he does. I can't even remember the name of the last guy I dated but I can tell you the birthdays, favourite colours, and the cat-or-dog preference of the last three guys he has. You know how creepy that is?"

"Lid."

Kisumi handed it to him. "I can't even justify it. Part of me wants to say it's because I want him to be with someone who can take care of him properly, but I know that's my shoulder angel bullshitting himself to heaven. I mean, I do want that for him, but that's not enough. I have a life, I have hobbies, why am I wasting my time stalking his boyfriends?"

"You tell me." Haru screwed on the rings and lowered the jars one by one into a pot of boiling water.

Prying open his ribs and exposing old high school insecurities that never healed quite right? That he couldn't do. Not fully. Needing something to keep his hands busy, he grabbed fistfuls of tomatoes of varying sizes, the hunk of mozzarella they'd picked up that morning, and a fistful of fresh basil leaves. He sliced the tomatoes into bite-sized pieces and arranged them on the platter, interlapping orange, pink, burgundy. Torn chunks of mozzarella nestled into the tomatoes. Extra-virgin olive oil was drizzled across it all and chased with ground pepper, a dash of fleur de sel, and basil torn to bits. They adjourned to the table for lunch as the jars boiled away.

"Normally Sousuke dates shitty guys so I can just tell him to dump them and feel good about myself, but Rin's not like that. He's great. And it kills me." Kisumi slid a juicy golden-orange slice into his mouth, calmer. "For a while I was trying to date guys and I'd have a great time and think things went well and then they'd never talk to me again. If it was once or twice, that's whatever, but it kept happening over and over and I started thinking, what's wrong with me? I've never been with someone who makes me feel the way Sousuke feels about him. If even Sousuke can find a guy like that, then what's my excuse?"

"It might help if you weren't constantly talking about other guys on dates."

"I don't do that."

"You do on ours."

He had to replay that a few times to make sure he'd heard correct. "We're dating?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Since you bought me coffee."

"That was—I thought—Is this a date?"

"Yes. Did you not realize?"

"It would help if you'd said something!"

"I thought it was obvious."

"It wasn't! I thought we were hanging out!"

"I don't let friends redecorate my bathroom."

"I assumed you were appealing to my design sensibilities."

"I let you hang all over me."

"I do that with everyone."

"I let you sleep in my bed."

"You said you wanted to test your mattress—oh god I just realized what you meant by that." Kisumi buried his head in his hands, face five-alarm red. "I'm dumb."

"You're cute."

Kisumi peeped out between his fingers. "I need to rectify what I said before. About having never been with someone who makes me feel like he feels about Rin."

"That's good," Haru said, and kissed him.

—

The mattress test was conclusive. Memory foam—or whatever it was—lacked the annoying creakiness of traditional inner spring mattresses and provided the perfect blend of firm and soft to support the lower back while your very patient boyfriend fucked the stupid out of you. He gave it a ten out of ten. Haru he gave an eleven.

"Is this obvious enough for you?"

Maybe a nine, for the teasing.

"Shut up," he whined, throwing the pillow at him.

"We should hang out like this more often."

The door slammed against the wall. Two men with baseball bats lunged flailing and screaming into the room.

Sousuke pointed his bat at Haru. "Let him go and we won't have any problems."

Rin wound up. "Don't even think of trying anything funny."

"What are you doing?"

"Rescuing you." Sousuke elaborated, "You haven't been online in ages, you stopped responding to my texts, and nobody knew where you were."

"Usually that means somebody's locked in a sex dungeon," Rin added. "Or dead."

"Well clearly I'm neither!" Kisumi strained for the blankets and tugged it up over their nethers. "I haven't been talking to you because I'm a stupid jealous bitch and now is really not the time for this. How did you even get here?"

"You left geotagging on the last time you posted, so Rin started asking around the neighbourhood."

Rin draped his bat over his shoulder. "I'm glad you're not kidnapped or whatever."

Silence hung over them like a zeppelin.

"So that's your boyfriend, huh." Sousuke scrutinized him. "I thought you liked taller guys."

Kisumi screamed into his hands, gesticulating at the door. He'd say he wished he would die on the spot if only that wouldn't mean his friends' last memory was of him getting plowed in full, vivid colour.

Unperturbed by the intrusion, Haru sat back on his heels. "You're Rin?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

He inclined his head towards Kisumi. "I'm taking him to Sweden next year. So there."

Shock flashed over Rin's face, then steeled into determination. He wrapped himself around Sousuke's arm. "We're going to Hawaii."

"We are?"

"Sousuke's also moving in with me tomorrow."

"I am?" Rin smacked him on the chest. "Right. I am."

"I remember when I lived in an apartment. I don't miss it. The freedom that comes with owning your own home..." Haru let the thought hang, taking a long, sentimental look around the room.

"I'm working on getting promoted so we can have our own home. This layout's nice, but I was planning on going bigger."

"Even if we did get a house, this seems like a pretty good size to me."

"We'll have a gym. And a pool."

"A pool is really ex—"

"We're getting a pool. And we have to have room for kids."

"I thought you didn't want—"

"I'm thinking about the _future_ , Sousuke," Rin said, almost yelling. His voice plunged to a husky purr. "Don't you want to be a Daddy?"

Sousuke lurched against the doorframe, central processor in catastrophic meltdown, doomed to crunch perfectly comprehensible data in a fatal, neverending loop.

"Dinner?" offered Haru.

"I'd love some. I'm not so bad in the kitchen myself, y'know. We'll see how you stack up."

Haru resumed moving. "Give me a few minutes and I'll get that started."

"Be seeing you." Rin hauled Sousuke's catatonic bulk away from the door and marched out of the room.

"Your friends seem nice."

"I hate you. I hate all of you. You're the worst."

Haru let out an amused hum, pushing into him in a way that brought starshowers over his vision. Kisumi's heels twisted in the sheet, ignoring the sounds of Rin and Sousuke giving themselves a tour of the house and his phone blowing up on the nightstand. All of them got zilch. Haru could keep his eleven.

**Author's Note:**

> "Heavy," I hear you asking, "Why are you reposting a story from last year?" in which case I assume you're one of the 20-whatever people who read it at that time and hello again, thanks for rereading, the answer is that I recently had a conversation w/ someone about whether or not they should post a story in which I told her that if she could live w/ the criticism that particular story may receive that it's always better to think of the people who would be happy to see that thing exist than the ones who wouldn't and I was just thinking 'the ones who wouldn't want to see it' can also include writers themselves and that even if you don't personally like a story, there's no major harm in posting it if it's finished. It's not as if we have to meet publisher's sales goals to make it 'worth' posting. The act of writing the story itself made it worth it, if you could find something worth learning in it. In cases like these, it can be a case of learning something you don't like about a certain type of writing or a certain scenario.
> 
> It's bad but it's done and there were at least a few people who got some bit of enjoyment out of it so rejoice! rejoice! and live your life and read shitty gay porn on the internet and I'll be back soon, back soon with a lot, a lot to come this month I'll see you then.
> 
> Criticism is not only welcome, but encouraged, and helps me create better content in the future. Thanks for reading.  
> 19 November 2018  
> \- 匿名重工業


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